Kahana
by Eleanor Fastback
Summary: Turning Point. Teresa is whisked off to what's supposed to be safety in Hawaii with her father, Steve McGarrett, because her mother chose to run away at the most unfortunate moment. It's up to Teresa whether she accepts her new life, or as she thinks she would rather, remain stuck in the past.
1. Hopena

_Ending_

If there had to be one thing I could never picture my mom doing, it was cooking dinner.

I watched her through the hallway as I set down my backpack next to the door of our apartment, her back turned to me. On her hands were a pair of oven mitts—it would have been a little more fitting to see her in a pair of hard-knuckled tactical gloves, which even further threw off my hardened sense of normalcy.

She's an all ass-kicking ex-navy badass. So when she is home, cooking before I even get back from school, of course I have at least some right to be suspicious.

"Tess, honey, dinner's going to be a little early tonight." Her chipper tone carried out the hallway in a melodic fashion, making my hands clammy.

_Never mind_ the fact that she doesn't usually get out of 'work' until after six, it was her expression when she turned around. How she talked. Her demeanor as a whole—the way she smiled just a little too wide, her hardened gaze, her posture on edge as if she were ready to strike at any moment. I almost wanted to go back out the door.

Abby Bennett, to some, was a cold-and-calculated contractor. She took on 'security' work for a few select, shady companies. What she did for those companies was anyone's guess, but not my own. It's a _don't ask, don't tell_ sort of thing between us, though I'd managed to piece a few grievous findings together. I hadn't talked about those findings since, and didn't ever plan to.

I would much rather have stayed like this, in our little condo in the 'nice' part of the city. We'd only been in Nashville for about six months, but it was the longest we'd stayed in any one place in years. If anything, I wanted to hold onto the notion that this would be our permanent residence… that I could be a normal teenager. One could only hope.

"Why aren't you at work?" Never one for beating around the bush, I tried to cut straight to the chase. I might not have known that much about what she did or how exactly she managed to do it in order to afford such a nice home or even put food on the table every day, but I knew her work schedule. And I knew it was a strict one—of the few times I'd gotten thrown into the mix with my mom (however unwillingly), I'd seen the nastiest side of the 'business'. Mom was as dirty as they came yet she was good at it, to a scary extent.

If she wasn't at work, something was wrong.

As Mom sat down at the already-set table and sipped at her wine, she gave me an easy smile. "Things have been slow lately. Let's just enjoy our meal, hey? Worry about it later."

That was what threw me off, what had me sensing the trouble brewing. I licked my lips and advanced on the table, sitting carefully across from her.

"Are you sure everything's okay?"

Soon she would get frustrated with my questions. I had to push it as far as I could.

Sighing, she set down her glass and gave me a leveled stare, her honey eyes locking onto me like that of a hawk's. "Yes, Teresa. Now enjoy the meal."

With nothing else I could do, I was forced to shrug all the anomalies off. To act as if everything was as it should be—just like Mom. I knew better than to press the issue any further. While she wasn't exactly strict, even in her Navy days all those years ago, when life was good and I had a family to be proud of, she hadn't liked talking about things of that sort. Maybe it was just out of habit.

Or maybe it was because we were constantly in danger.

Still, I couldn't appreciate the well-cooked food as much as I otherwise would have. If it were any other night I'd have been ordering a pizza right about then.

I would trade it all to be normal. To not have to move around constantly and be a teenager… to not have to worry about whichever gang leader or weapons dealer my mother might have pissed off on that particular night. My life of no worries had ended long ago, though. And then _this_ began. On more than one occasion I'd been tempted to call it 'hell' but in reality, it made for comfortable living.

Halfway through our meal there was a knock on the door. A rare occurrence in itself. Mom's body jerked toward it, eyes narrowed as her phone simultaneously began to ring. When she turned back toward me, she was in that all-ass-kicking mode again. Fear began to bubble in the pit of my stomach.

"Tessa, listen to me carefully," Remarkably, she waited for me to nod before continuing. Her tone was steely and I saw the fear behind her own eyes. Something was wrong. "Go to your room and lock the door."

"But mom—"

I huffed when she interrupted me. That was a shitty suggestion—no way was I going to go and hide away while my mother fought off whatever trouble was waiting for us outside the door. "I'm serious. No buts. Go to your room, lock the door and _no matter what,_ _don't_ open it."

Normally I would have argued… but normally, we wouldn't have been in this situation at all. And if Mom though it was best, then it was. I was no expert in any of this. The look in my mother's eyes silenced whatever qualms I might have had and in just seconds I was in my room, my door closed and locked behind me.

I paced around my room, trying to think of anything I could do in order to help my Mom. A shady deal had obviously caught up with Abby. I sighed, wondering how she'd gone from serving her country to dirtying it. To this… to fearing for our lives. And all of it was for money.

Yelling resounded from the dining room. I couldn't' make out much, everything just seemed to happen all at once. It was too much to process—but things were screamed about money. Money demands, Great. What the hell had Mom gotten us into?

The last thing I wanted to do was sit around my room and wait for Mom to get hurt. No, I wanted be out there fighting alongside her. After all, I hadn't been trained in mixed martial arts for the past five years in case I needed to defend myself from some bully. I was trained for _this._

And of course, my mom wouldn't let me in on the fight.

Something was smashed somewhere near the living room and I let a quiet gasp slip, my hands reaching for my head. Dammit. We were in trouble this time. A disgruntled male voice demanded to know where _I_ was and my breath got caught. I swore and readied myself anyway, climbing up onto my dresser next to the door. I knew that more than likely guns were brought to this particular party. Especially if my mom hadn't been able to put these guys out herself.

The man in question didn't even try the door handle. It was just kicked straight in and if anything, it got my adrenaline pumping even further. A scuffle quickly ensued and before I could think too much on it, I jumped straight onto the man's back as soon as he entered. I immediately recognized him as Dmitry—one of Abby's many creepy friends. One of my arms went around his neck in a choke hold and the other went for his upraised gun. My legs wrapped around his waist from behind and I squeezed as hard as I could.

I couldn't believe that my hold was actually working. Dmitry, a 6'2 blue-eyed beast of a man was anything but easy to take down. Just as he was about to go out, body slightly convulsing, I was ripped from his back and slammed onto the hardwood floor. With the wind thoroughly knocked out of me I laid there for several seconds gasping like a fish, able to hear nothing but my mother's frantic screaming for me.

When I finally came to my senses and was able to see straight, a gun was pointed in my face and Dmitry staggered to his feet, clearly unimpressed.

"You're going to regret that," He snapped, his Russian accent thick.

Seconds later, he hauled me up by my hair and pushed me—stumbling and all, out of the room.

Just the sight of Mom through my blurry vision had my heart dropping. Abby was on her knees, hands tied behind her back with several guns pointed at her. Nearly all the fight left me.

"Mom," I muttered, still breathless as I let Dmitry's right-hand-man shove me unceremoniously onto the floor. From the little information I'd gathered I knew it was his son, Andrei. It was easy enough to tell just from their resemblance that they were related. "What's going on?"

It was hard, trying not to sound like a scared little girl.

"Do as Dmitry says, Teresa. Please."

As if it were imaginable I became even more frightened, to the point where it was nearly impossible to try and conceal it. Even as my hands were secured in front of me with zip ties, Abby didn't say a word. Dmitry stood back and smirked, taking pleasure in our predicament. "You're going to have fun with this one, Andrei," He grinned, nodding toward me when I fought haphazardly against the zip ties. They were more secure than I could have imagined.

Andrei simply looked at me, his stare chilling. I glared back.

At such words, Mom flinched. That one show of weakness was enough for Dmitry and he pounced, still with that sinister smirk. He stepped closer to me and I tensed, anticipating the worst.

Of course, they would pick on her daughter to get to her. His hand snapped toward me throat, closing around it as if he could snap it in half like a toothpick. In one swift movement he had me in mid-air, slamming me against the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room. I gasped and gasped, my hands going to his around my neck in an effort to pry it off.

"I promise," Mom growled, teeth bared. "I will be the death of you. Let her go!"

Dmitry ignored her, instead squeezing my throat tighter. My vision became spotty and nearly all my fight left me. All I could do was wheeze until all the air left my lungs. Only then did I begin to panic, thinking for sure that this was what Dmitry wanted. To kill me in front of my mother just to torture her. It was how his sick, twisted mind worked.

Fighting against her restraints, Abby finally broke. "What do you want?!"

As soon my mom uttered those words, Dmitry let me go. I fell to the floor and held my throat, still not able to breathe. I heard his footsteps thunder toward Abby, and I laid there unmoving, waiting to see what he would do. Limp and panting, I cried out as Dmitry backhanded my mother.

"You motherfucker," I rasped. "You're a dead man."

When Mom righted herself, Dmitry let out an edged laugh. "You know exactly what I want, dear Abby."

She hesitated. "I… I don't have it."

And then he cocked his Beretta and pointed it at me. It seemed all I could focus on was the barrel of that gun, aimed straight for my head. That I would be dead in just a few moments, pathetically laid out on the floor after having my ass handed to me. "Wait," Mom screamed, frantic. Dmitry didn't load his gun but at least he didn't shoot me either. He looked back to Abby. "Wait, I can get it. I can get something better."

Never had I heard my mom beg like she just had. I could tell that alone killed her—she'd always wanted to be strong for me.

"Elaborate please, Abby." He said slowly, eyes narrowed.

Looking only at me, Mom sighed. "There's a storage locker. A few blocks away from here. What's in it is yours. Just… just leave us alone."

Dmitry and his son shared a look before they both nodded. I merely stared, not really caring what happened anymore. It was obvious that after this, nothing would ever be the same. I knew without a doubt this would be the end of our lives. Never had I been involved in something as big as this, never had my life _actually_ been threatened.

Hopefully, if anything, this would be a wake-up call for Mom.

Andrei hoisted me up by the zip ties still around my wrists, causing them to bite into my flesh. I swore fervently at him, kicking him in the shin after I steadied myself. His grip around my wrist tightened and his eyes narrowed even further, though he made no other move other than forcefully pushing me ahead of him.

"Everyone ready for a ride?" Dmitry asked somewhat maniacally. Both my mother and I merely glared at him in reply.

Five minutes later we were riding in the back of one of those cliché unmarked white vans with our hands still bound. Mom gave me a knowing look, a familiar one. She was silently telling me she had a plan, and I could only hope against hope that it was a good one. It wasn't long before the van halted and Dmitry got out, cutting the rope around my mother's hands and leading her into the storage building with a gun inconspicuously held to her back.

I was left with just Andrei and the driver in front, who I could only see through the metal grate that separated us. Surprisingly, both were quiet. They didn't try to intimidate me or torture me as Dmitry had. They just waited.

I breathed a sigh of relief when mom opened the back door with Dmitry still in tow, except this time they each carried one large bag. I didn't want to know what was inside of them… didn't want to know the true extent of my mother's downfall. All that she'd been hiding.

The last time I'd been in even remotely as deep as this, I'd gotten into a tangle with a drug dealer's kid because of my smart mouth. I had the scar on my shoulder from a broken beer bottle to prove I fought the good fight.

This? This was a thousand times worse.

Without even bothering to look in the bags, Dmitry told the drive to go. I look warily toward my mother, who had settled back in her original spot against the back of the van, this time unbound. She held my gaze steadily, telling me that things were still going as planned. I nearly breathed a slumped in relief—but it wasn't over yet.

We ended up at a secluded pier. I only recognized my surrounding when I was dumped out of the van, landing on my knees. The asphalt tore at my skin through my jeans, but I made no sound of protest. Not a single ship was docked and a bad feeling began to rise in the pit of my stomach. I looked around a little, trying to find somebody… anybody to call for help. No one.

Obviously, that wasn't a good sign. This would be a perfect place to kill somebody and dump their body unseen…

Abby gave me a slight smile, as if she knew what I was thinking. "Everything's going to be okay, baby," She said lowly, pulling me to her side. While Dmitry and Andrei looked inside the bags, she slipped a tiny pocket knife into my hands.

To cut the zip ties.

I couldn't focus on that miracle, however, when I caught a glimpse of what exactly was _in_ those bags.

Cocaine.

Kilos upon kilos of cocaine.

It felt like the word had stopped when I laid eyes on it. As if I were dreaming, I closed my eyes and reopened them. It still there. And my life had officially gone to shit. Mom noticed my slackened, shocked stance and gave my arm a squeeze, trying to reassure me.

Reassure me of what, exactly? That she had completely corrupted herself, put the both of us in danger for _money?_

"Ah, I knew you would come through for me once again, Abby," Dmitry said, straightening.

Like she had much of a choice in the matter anyway.

If I had to hazard a guess, there had to be at least a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of cocaine there. In those two bags. What the hell had my mother gotten herself into? I knew she was in deep… but this came as a huge blow to me. Looking from Mom to the cocaine, it was solid evidence that nothing would ever be the same again. I felt as if I didn't even know my mother anymore. Or what she was capable of.

The one thing I wanted to do in that moment was wipe that stupid smirk from Dmitry's face. "Thank you for doing business with me, Ms. Bennett."

Everything fell apart when Dmitry raised his gun, pointed directly at my mother. Before he could squeeze the trigger, however, Mom pulled a gun from the waistband of her pants in a millisecond, pointing it at Dmitry. Her expression was cold and I knew she would have no problem killing this man tonight.

I used his momentary shock to break away from the zip ties, backing away. Neither my fists nor the tiny pocket knife would do any good in a gun fight. So I did what I could as a distraction, knocking Andrei's feet out from under him with the heaviest kick I'd ever thrown. The driver was right behind him—and not knowing what to do with this one, I simply punched him square in the jaw. It was enough to send him backwards a couple feet, but not put him on the ground.

Thankfully, Mom had caught onto exactly what I was doing and fired a couple rounds in Dmitry's direction, unfortunately missing him by just a foot or two. That surprised me, from what I'd seen Abby was a dead-on shot. When he ducked out of the way, though, it gave us the one chance we needed to run away. And we took it, running down the short distance of the pier and zigzagging through shipping containers until we'd lost them. Until we were lost ourselves.

Eventually we came back onto a street. I hadn't even been able to think during our run, hadn't been able to focus on much other than running for my life.

I had no idea what to say or do with my mother. She turned toward me, expression as hard as always. "Let's go."

* * *

Heya guys. This is my first H50 story, though I don't believe you should go easy on me :) I already have about fifteen chapters written, so I'm posting purely for feedback. This story as a whole, unrealistic as it is, is very personal for me so I'm sort of hesitant about posting at all. I'm having so much fun writing it, though, so I figured why not share eh?

McGarrett will be making his first appearance in the next chapter. Please leave me a little lovin' and I'll post again.

Mele Kalikimaka!


	2. A Hui Hou

_Til' We Meet Again_

**Two Weeks Later**

Stockton was one of California's most notorious cities for violent gang activities. Right up there with Compton.

Why on earth my mother chose to hide out there I had no idea, but it sure as hell made me suspicious.

We were staying in some seedy motel room in one of the worse parts of the city. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to live in—nothing suspicious. It was the exact opposite that someone like Dmitry Novikov would guess we were hiding out in. And that was the one thing we needed. Mom hadn't uttered a word about what happened, where the drugs came from or how she'd even gotten them. Hell, aside from all the running and zigzagging around the country in an effort to elude him and his gang, she acted as if that night hadn't ever happened.

Like we both weren't almost killed.

It felt weird for me to have my backpack strewn across one shoulder, ready to go to school just one day after we arrived. The last thing I wanted to think about was school, and then there was the fact that I had that sinking feeling in my stomach again. I felt that if I went to school I'd come home to the same scene… to a whacked-out mother and a crazed Russian mob leader wanting us both dead.

Such a thought sent a chill running down my spine. I was almost tempted to go against mom's word and just skip. It's not as if I hadn't done it before. When I saw that she was up early that morning, packing the small amount of things we'd accumulated over the past couple of weeks into boxes and bags, I just about had a panic attack.

"What's going on?" I made sure to 'enunciate' as she had always encouraged me to do. So I wouldn't have to ask twice… so she wouldn't be able to hear the slight tremor in my tone.

To distract myself from the scene in front of me, I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes. The smell of moth balls had never been so comforting. Right then, that room was our only safe place. I would cherish it.

But I couldn't help but wonder. Should I even bother going to school after all if Mom planned on leaving again so soon, after she said we wouldn't? Why even sign me up in the first place? We were starting to run out of places to hide…

"Mom, where are we going?" I pressed, fear still quickly rising. As usual, however, I refused to let it show.

She looked up briefly and gave me one of those care-free smiles she always had ready for me. It didn't do much to put my nerves at ease this time, though. "Don't worry about it, Tess. We're going somewhere safe soon."

My throat grew thick. Something was wrong. Again.

"But—" My heart plummeted even further into my chest when she held a hand up, silencing me. She'd just told me yesterday we would stay in Stockton. That no one knew we were there, that this might just be permanent. I guess she was wrong.

"It will be better, Tessa. I promise you. Just go to school, don't worry about it okay? I'll have everything packed for when you get back."

Mom once told me that she felt it best that I go to school every chance I got—that I was safer in a school surrounded by teachers and hundreds of other kids. She also liked to think of it as my refuge—the one place where I didn't have to worry about anything other than my school work. In reality, however, all I could do was look at the clock and count down the minutes until I could go home and make sure everything was okay.

That's how it had always been, and I expected today to be no different.

It was her sincerity that had me squinting is suspicion. With my expression tight, I gave a slight nod in her direction while my gaze focused on my sneakered feet. I wished desperately that she would just shut up already and tell me the truth about whatever was happening… at least so I could try and help her. The soldier mentality she had going on would be the death of her, and that scared me. I would do whatever it took for that not to happen.

Because I loved my mother unquestionably, I left with my beg still slung over one shoulder, eyes on my feet while I walked to my new school—one that I obviously wouldn't be attending for much more than today. I felt immature for leaving—for leaving because it was easier—for leaving my mother to deal with her problems on her own. Deep down, I could feel it in my bones that nothing would ever be the same.

They hadn't been for two weeks and they never would again.

Things from the outside of the motel looked to be roughly the same as I left them… dingy and slightly unkempt, but the same nonetheless. No broken windows or smashed in doors to signal something gone wrong, no warnings signs anywhere. And I felt that was a good thing, that maybe I could go to school and not have to worry about my mother getting herself into trouble. Letting my guard down, I eased my bag down and opened the door.

When I entered the two double bedded suite, however, all hope of a semi-normal future went down the drain. Along with my resolve to keep strong in all of this. All of Mom's things were gone, while my own were in all the boxes she packed earlier that morning. Without even knowing it my backpack slipped from my hand and landed onto the carpeted floor with a loud thunk. It looked as if the room had been professionally cleaned, swiped of every trace of my mother ever being there.

An envelope sat on my bed, my name scrawled across the front of it.

Of course I knew what that meant. I wasn't as stupid as some of my past Math teachers might have liked to believe. I pieced things together—and I knew without doubt that _this was not good._ And I also knew what was going to be inside of that envelope before I even opened it.

More importantly, _what_ it said.

My mom was gone.

A choked cry erupted from my throat and I sunk onto the bed, both hands reaching for the letter. They involuntarily squeezed and I brought them to my face, crumpling the cursed thing in my fisted hand. I sat there for about thirty seconds or more, soundlessly crying with my shoulders heaving from the force of my emotions.

Mom was gone. Gone.

It took several minutes for me to calm down enough to even think about reading whatever Mom had to say to me before she skipped out on me, just like everyone else had. When I finally did, I eased up my grip and opened it, unblinking as I stared at the piece of starch paper I'd crumpled inside of the envelope. Nothing else I could do, I began reading, trying to process the words skewed across the page.

_Tessa,_

_I am sorry I have to do this. I am. But there are things—dangerous things—that I did not and still do not ever want you to see. All you've unfortunately witnessed has been far too much already, and I can't keep doing this to you. Last week's incident made me realize something. You're still a child. All these years I've been treating you as if you are an adult, and now I see the affects it's had on you. For that I am so sincerely sorry. Please Tess, let this happen. Do not try to find me; I am taking the cowardly way out… I am hiding. I am doing this alone because I will always be found and I will always have danger following me and I will always be running. Again, this is my fault. Not yours, baby. Which is why I had to leave. Live the rest of your childhood carefree—know that you are not responsible for my actions. _

_Your father is arriving on a plane from Hawaii and he will be here in town by the time you arrive home from school. I've arranged for him to be at the motel for 3 PM sharp—please don't run away. Please, please don't. I know exactly what you're thinking and you can't do it. At 6 AM tomorrow morning you will board a plane to Honolulu and you _will not_ look back. Trust me just this one more time, Teresa, when I say that you will have a better life with Steve. That much I am sure of. He will protect you from all the dangers I have knowingly put you in. And that's what is most important._

_Stay safe. I love you._

_Mom. _

In rapid succession I went from pacing around the room to throwing the letter back onto the bed, then a crumpled mess. I couldn't let this happen. Whatever it was my mother was planning I had to stop her and _help…_ which is all I ever really wanted to do anyway. My eyes snapped to the analogue watch on my wrist and upon seeing that was nearly 3 o'clock at that very moment, I snapped out of my daze.

Every textbook I got today at school is tossed out of my backpack, strewn onto the floor in an arrayed mess. A few minutes later, several pairs of clothes replace it along with the necessities I always took when we were 'on the run'; a map of whichever city or state we were in, a fully-charged pre-paid cell phone, a wad of cash I had stashed away for this very reason for over a year now, a can of pepper spray, my personal set of lock-picks, and a list of all of Mom's contacts (_friendlies_) throughout the continental United States.

Then I took a deep breath. And another—tried to steady myself when I felt an asthma attack coming on. In such a state nothing was a guarantee, not even my lungs working properly. I quickly fished an inhaler out of one of the packed boxes and slipped my knife into my back pocket. With another deep inhale, I was ready as I would ever be.

Ready for what I didn't know, but I couldn't sit around and let the father I hadn't seen in years whisk me off to supposed safety in Hawaii. Mom should have known that I wouldn't give up without a fight. She used to call me her little fighter, and that's what I was hellbent on proving to be. I wouldn't sit around and cry like I might have otherwise considered doing. No. I was going to fix whatever was wrong.

With that though firmly cemented in my stubborn mind, I made for the door at a jogging pace, opened it up without much of a thought. It wasn't three yet, right? I was in the clear. I had still had a few minutes to get away undetected. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to smack straight into someone in the threshold. Their hands immediately went to my forearms in an effort to steady me. I pushed myself several feet backwards, staring at the familiar stranger in front of me. I recognized his face, yes. I knew his name, yes.

Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. My father. All I could manage was to stare at him for several aching seconds, shocked out of my wits. I was sure I looked like a puffer fish, mouth hung open and arms flailed at my sides while my backpack hung halfway off my back. An exact matched of my own eyes stared back at me; you could never really tell if they were blue or green, with the same look of awe. For a half-second I wanted to make myself believe it wasn't him, but I knew that face. It was impossible to forget.

The look of bewilderment still hadn't left his features when I turned on my heel and ran in a dead sprint in the opposite direction of him. Not once did I turn around, my heart kept up its erratic beat as I pushed my feet faster and faster off the motel's main parking lot and onto the street.

Away from my father and the possibility of ever knowing him, of having what most considered a 'normal' life. And hopefully I would be running to my mother.

* * *

I got myself a review and as promised, here it is. As I've said, I'm a little sensitive with this story… leave a couple reviews and I'll be over the moon :) It's up to you guys how often this story is updated!

It should be fairly obvious but I always translate the Hawaiian chapter titles to English at the start of every chapter. Also, should I keep the Hawaiian title or use its English translation, 'Turning Point'? Please do let me know.

Okay, I think that's it. Thank you to Cowgirl for the review. A little more lovin' would be most appreciated.


	3. Mea Mahuka

_Run Away_

"_Hey!_" The yell was distant but more than loud enough to meet my sensitive ears. "_Teresa, get back here!" _

I couldn't focus on that, however. I had to figure out the best course of action… how the hell did I even begin to try and outrun a Navy SEAL? The streets were mostly vacant as per usual, no crowds there to provide me any cover. If anyone was around what could I say? "Help, my father's looking for me?" I imagined that not going over so well.

One thing kept me going, even when I heard a pair of thundering footsteps behind me as I cut through an alley next to an abandoned building. It was the thought of my mother. She would be okay by herself—after all, she _was_ Abby Bennett. Nothing could stop that woman.

Me, on the other hand…

Well, even after just finding out that I'd lost her I didn't know how I would be able to cope.

From the sound of Steve's footsteps I could tell he was close. Too close, perhaps less than ten yards away from me. Running into the alley had been a panicked mistake, though I made the best of it as I pushed my way through a thankfully unlocked back door and began making my way through the decrepit warehouse-like building, looking for an exit as far away from the door I entered as possible. Sweat built up on my brow and since I finally took down my pace a few notches, my lungs were really starting to feel the effects of the run.

Stealth was what I next focused on. I kept my footfalls quiet and quick, knowing that Steve was more than likely in the building with me. I didn't want to think about if Mom ever found out I _ran away_ from my father. It would most certainly not be good.

Rows upon rows of shelves were placed all over the building, some overturned onto their sides. At the very least they made for good cover, at their worst they gave me one more thing to trip on.

The few seconds I spend in that old building, I allow myself to think a little. I recalled my father being a Navy SEAL, yes, but not much else. I'd only seen him a couple times since I was four and I had no concrete memories of him… of distant times so faded in my mind I wasn't sure if they had actually happened. There were many things I didn't know about him—I had his last name. My mother once told that we share the same eyes, and today the fact was confirmed. We did.

And I wasn't happy. He wasn't ever around, so why should I be happy to share such an obvious physical characteristic with him?

Nobody in their right mind would be, that's why.

Other than a few choppy memories from before my mother left when I was four, that's all I really knew.

When I found an exit I didn't hesitate going through it; I was hoping Steve hadn't even seen me go into the building in the first place.

Hopefully he was long behind me.

As soon as I was out I took a deep breath and let it out, eager to get the musky, dingy warehouse air out of my lungs. That was the only small comfort I was allowed when he was there, right next to me, grabbing me by my forearms just like he had last time. Only he wasn't letting go.

Hope left me when I looked up, saw the frustrated and worried look in his eyes. He was as tall as I remembered, still towering over my 5'2" frame. "'Esa, what the hell is wrong?" Steve demanded, backing me toward the wall of the building. I dug my heels in, not in any mood to let him push me around.

"Don't call me that," I muttered, something inside of me stirring. Suddenly I couldn't even meet him in the eye, the memory hitting me like the force of a slap across my face. I'd only been a few years old and pronouncing my name had been difficult for my baby-talk self, and all I could say of my name was 'Esa'. Steve caught onto it and called me it every chance he got.

I didn't like it. Because I wasn't four anymore—I was fifteen.

"What's wrong?" He pressed, voice rough. The stubble on his face told me he hadn't shaved in a while. Maybe he was getting as little sleep as I was.

I tried to shimmy out of his grip and failed. He held me tight, but not to the point where it hurt. Instead, I adjusted my backpack on my shoulders and let out a small, strained huff of a sigh. "Let me go," I said, straining to keep my voice from trembling. This was hard for me, conversing with him as if my mother hadn't just abandoned me. As if he even really cared.

All I wanted to do was run away.

His grip merely loosened. "No until you tell me what's going on."

A familiar concerned gaze searched my face for the answer they desperately wanted. Everyone wanted answers, including myself. But we weren't about to get any.

"You tell me," I said, turning angry. "I come home from school to find Mom missing and a goddamned letter to explain it all."

His posture stiffened at that and he released me from his hold, I took several steps away from him until my backpack touched the cement wall. "She sent me a letter too."

"And what else?" I replied stiffly—too angry and sad and scared to realize I sounded a little bratty. I just wanted to know what the hell had gone down.

A moment of hesitation passed, I was in too much shock to break it and badger him into telling me whatever he was hiding. "And custody papers. That I've already signed."

I jumped at the sound of police sirens in the distance and turned sharply, fists clenched. Steve was right there with me, thinking I was going to make a break for it again. I wasn't stupid. "Please… just leave me alone," I pleaded, finally cracking.

How long had this been in the works? Was this the only reason we'd come to California… Mom only wanted to get me out of the house today so she could leave. The realization hit me like a blow to the chest, and I almost doubled over in pain. She didn't want me.

It felt surreal, standing there with a man I was supposed to know…was supposed to live with. A man I was supposed to call my father. While I wouldn't admit it aloud, there was no denying I felt safer standing there with next to me than I had in weeks. Perhaps it was because of the few memories I had of him—the slight familiarity in a world otherwise full of strangers.

"I'm sorry, Teresa," He offered quietly. "I had no idea about any of this until just a few days ago. I'm sorry."

Upon taking one step closer to me, he paused when I pressed myself even further into the wall. I didn't want to be touched, especially not by him. To me it was not mean… if anything it was reasonable. For the first time in a long time, I felt the urge to go home. The only thing about that was I didn't _have_ a home. Hadn't in years. No permanent residence, no place to call my own.

I'd never felt more alone in my life then at that moment, standing in an alleyway with the father I barely knew.

"Come here," He murmured, so quiet I could barely hear him. Before I could protest he had his arms wrapped around me, enveloping me into a warm, comforting hug.

Comfort I wanted no part of. I pushed against him, hysterical and crying and shoving. "No, leave me alone," I cried. I didn't want him or anyone seeing me like this. I'd always been strong, just like my mom.

But how could I be strong without her?

His arms only locked around me, holding me there while I fought against him, as if he could sense what that really mean to me. It only took a few seconds for me to stop, to press my face against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. While I hated the thought, a hug was what I needed. And it just so happened to be from my father. I squeezed hard and pushed my face into his chest farther, hoping it would quell my crying.

If anything, it only made it worse. "She's gone," I sobbed uselessly. It seemed to be all I could think of.

"It's okay, 'Esa," Steve mumbled into my hair, ignoring my earlier demands about the nickname. I let it slide, but the name didn't do much for my tears.

Another few minutes passed before I had the courage to withdraw from the embrace. And when I did, I still couldn't meet his gaze. "Let's go back to your room, okay?" He said, though it didn't sound like much of a suggestion.

Nothing was up for debate anymore, that didn't mean I wouldn't try and carry out my plan. I still had my backpack with all of my supplies, 'reunited' with my father or not. Still, I hesitantly agreed. He led me back out onto the street with a hand on the small of my back, as if he could read my mind. And I let him, if only so he could trust me. I had no intentions of running… yet.

Funny, all my mother and I did was run from problems so it seemed almost natural for me to run away from this… from my father. From the relationship we could very well have if I just allowed it. That's perhaps what scared me most, the fact that after all those years of thinking he didn't care about me one way or another there he was, as if to save the day. I didn't know what to think of him.

No more than a few blocks away, we made it back to the motel fairly quickly. I didn't want to so much as step through the door, to see all of my mother's things, gone. To see my own packed up and ready to be shipped out to Hawaii. One more time, I wished desperately all of this was just a stupid, stupid dream. If I woke up from it I would change everything, from the fact that Mom thought I was blind to everything she did and that she thought she needed to _save _me. I wasn't the one who needed saving. She was. And I certainly wouldn't allow to run and hide like she had already done.

When I finally stepped foot into the room I'd gotten to know a little too well over the last couple of weeks, Steve was already sitting on my bed, reading the letter. My blood pressure rose a little at the sight but I kept my mouth zipped for the moment. I didn't want him reading my mother's personal letter to me—and it wasn't like it would be of any help to him, anyway.

Steve stood after placing the crumpled letter back into its envelope, and I heard him sigh for the first time. He reached up and momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose before looking over at me in sympathy. I wrinkled my nose… again, I didn't want his sympathy.

"Listen to me, Teresa. I know you're scared and you have every right to be," He added before I had the chance to cut him off. I ground my teeth in frustration. "All I know right now is that your mom's in danger, and she's doing what is best for you."

"Thanks for filling me in, Genius," I said sourly. He had just repeated all that I knew, too.

His expression promptly hardened at my snotty tone and he straightened, looking stern. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. "Now is not the time for attitude."

Parenting must have come so easy for him… so why the hell hadn't he been around to actually do some of it? I knew for a fact that if he had, things would be different. A whole word full of different.

"Whatever," I said, off-handed. That was how I talked to my mom. We were real with each other, we spoke our minds. I wasn't going to stop just because Steve didn't like it. "I'm not going to Hawaii with you. I'm staying here and I'm finding Mom."

It seemed like only then did he regard me as the teenager I really was. "No. Abby was very clear in her instructions. She wants you with me. And I do, too."

I tried to get past that. He actually wanted me around. "She could die you know. Hell, she could already _be_ dead," Such a thought had another surge of panic coursing through me. I couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

"You are fifteen years old, Teresa. God only knows that whoever is looking for your mother's looking for you, too. You're coming to Hawaii. _Don't_ try and argue with me," He said, short and curt with his words. They only further left no room for argument.

Although childish, I felt like stomping my foot. It took every ounce of self-control for me not to do so. Instead, I looked him square in the eye. "Get out."

"Excuse me?" He demanded, then becoming angry himself. Not just his tone had changed from soft and concerned to stern and flat, his jaw jumped and the look in his eyes told me he didn't like what I just said. At all.

So he didn't have a whole lot of patience. I would have to remember that.

"Get out," I repeated and tried not to flinch at my own words. "I—I don't want you here and I don't want to go with you. Just leave."

Fat chance there, I was well aware, but I had to try. Everything, even if it meant him hating me. What I said seemed to have an effect on him, though not the one I wanted. He got pissed off, sure. The one thing I wasn't expecting him to do was haul two of my duffel bags over his shoulders and grab me by my wrist, pulling me out of the motel room. I barely had enough time to snatch my mother's letter off the bed before he slammed the door shut behind us.

"I knew there'd probably be a lot of changes when you come to live with me," He started, words rushed and heated as he hauled me and the duffel bags down the sidewalk. "The first thing to go is that smart mouth of yours, I promise you that one."

If I weren't so pissed off at him I would've shrunk at what he just told me. I only glared at the pavement in front of me and focused on not tripping, awed that he could walk at such a quick pace while carrying so much. I was nearly jogging so I wouldn't get dragged behind. "Ow," I seethed, just wanting to press his buttons a little more. "You're hurting me."

Not really. From the look he gave me, he knew it too. His grip was firm but not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to keep me straggling alongside him.

"Not going to work on me, 'Esa," He said.

Well that much was obvious.

Soon we stopped at a large, gray SUV. Steve didn't let of my wrist even as he opened the back door and tossed my bags into the back. After stuffing me into the back seat, he stood back for a moment and regarded me, almost cautiously. Then, smartly, he switched the child lock on the door closest to me before jogging to the other side of the car and doing the same.

When he got in the driver's seat and was situated in the car, I heard the locks for both the doors and windows click.

All I could do was glower from my spot in the backseat. How the hell had I gotten myself into this, with my irate, mentally insane Navy SEAL of a father behind the wheel?

On that same note, I wondered where my mother was. I hoped she was out somewhere, kicking Dmitry's ass. I suppose that was all I could do.

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Four reviews on the last chapter, this makes me one happy camper. Keep it up and I'll continue with the once-a-day updating :) Special thanks to the guest who pointed out an error in chapter two. That's what I'm here for! Now, tell me what you thought about this chapter!


	4. Kia'i Po

_Nightwatch_

The drive to Steve's hotel was a short tense one. I sat in the back seat, arms folded across my chest, momentarily given up on any hope of finding my mom again. Not one of my best moments—I had to fight to hold back tears, of doing anything childish, of pissing Steve off more than I already had (though it was tempting.) Steve's reaction confused me and had me sadder and angrier than I already was. Sure, I knew he was likely more strict than my mother always was. But to freak out over my small outburst?

I thought back to what I said, eyes focused on the scenery beyond the tinted windows, watching as the streets of downtown became more inhabited, cleaner, _safer. _I distinctly remember my tone, what I said. I hadn't thought until now how it could have affected my father, having only just been focused on forcing him to leave. I imagined how I would've felt if my mother had done the same to me, if she'd chosen the harsher way instead of kindly telling me to beat it through a letter. And really, while I understood Steve's anger and the hurt he was trying to mask with it more than he could've known, I don't know which way I would've picked.

At least if I was around when Mom left, I might have been able to get a few answers out of her. Nothing serious, just enough information so I knew she'd be safe. _This way…_ I nearly couldn't face it, couldn't think about it other than to cry and wish desperately that I hadn't gone to school. The thought that she could have already been dead killed _me._ I felt guilt and pain and resentment toward Steve for ruining my chances of finding her.

"I'm sorry," I ground out finally. It killed me to apologize when I didn't think I was in the wrong. But the moment, if I wanted things to go smoothly, called for it.

Our eyes met momentarily met in the rear-view mirror before he looked away, focusing back on the way. It was another minute before he even acknowledged my apology. "For what?" He asked.

"For… for earlier," I said, more confused than ever. Wasn't he mad at me? "At the motel."

Recognition thankfully crossed his features and he straightened in his seat. "It's fine," He said, though his posture told me an entirely different story.

Fine, whatever. If he wanted to go with the short tight-lipped answers I could easily revert to them, too.

I glared at nothing when I had to wait for him to let me out of the car, having already gone back to get my bags. I jumped out and landed onto the sidewalk, unimpressed with the situation as a whole. Of course he would stay at one of the nicest hotels in town. I wondered if his tastes in living conditions were as uppity as my mom's.

He had me walk in front of him once again; I'm sure he was ready to bail and chase me down at any given moment if I gave him reason to believe I wanted to run. I felt like a useless child because of it, and to further crap on the situation I chose to walk as slowly as possible—as if to prolong the inevitable. If anything, I believed I was walking my proverbial line to death.

It was obvious he didn't even trust me enough to let me go to the room myself, or get my bags later. I could already see our relationship blossoming… right.

"What do you expect me to do for the rest of the night?" I asked when we got situated in the two-double-bed suite. I sat down on what I guessed to be my own warily.

He turned around after setting my bags down, looking at me as if the answer was obvious. "We stay here and lay low until the flight tomorrow morning. It's the safest and only way we're doing it."

I pursed my lips and wondered how he'd just managed to answer the first questions and then the ones I would have consequently asked. I hadn't been able to get a single protest out. Instead, all I could do was fall back onto my bed and let out a long, drawn out breath. My body was tense and ready for a fight, the after-effects of the terrible night I had two weeks ago. I never felt completely safe anywhere anymore.

"Whatever," I mumbled, pretending not to have noticed him lay the key-card on the end table by the door. I would remember that for future reference, of course.

The sheets on my bed were soft to the touch and smelled of lilac, a far stretch from the starchy, moth-ball smelling sheets of the motel. I tried not to let the parallel sway my resolve. I had a great life with my mother… considering. Just because Steve was my father and he offered something supposedly 'safe'… didn't mean it was better.

I couldn't let go of Mom. It was just that simple. She was the one who stuck with me through the years. Not Steve.

Staying in meant several boring hours watching talk-shows and mindless cartoons on TV, Steve looking just as bored as I felt. Room service came with dinner later that evening; I guess Steve was serious about the idea of not leaving the hotel room. Even if just for dinner.

Was I really in that much danger? I didn't want to believe it. I already felt scared enough.

Steve tried to make some small talk while we ate in the kitchenette. I went along with it, shaking my head or nodding at the appropriate time. I didn't want to talk. There was no point in all of this, if I had it my way I would be gone by midnight. Hopefully. If my half-assed plan actually worked.

Knowing Steve and his background just meant I had to be more careful of my actions, that's all.

Just after he finished wolfing down his food, Steve's phone rang. I pushed around my mashed-potatoes around my plate, pretending not to listen to his conversation.

It seemed as if he didn't even get the chance to say hello. "Danno, listen, I know—"

Apparently 'Danno' wasn't too thrilled with him, either. At least I had someone sort-of on my side. Steve however remained cool as he listened to his friend rant. "You know why I left. It was urgent."

_"Yeah, how is Teresa anyway?"_ Since the person on the other line had slowed down and was talking at a normal rate, I could just barely make out what he was saying. For once I thanked my close proximity to Steve, or else I wouldn't have been able to hear it.

So he told other people about me. I didn't know how to feel about that, didn't _want _to know what they thought of my mother. I almost wanted to be mad at Steve for it, too, for making her seem like a bad mother. But even I had to admit from an outsider's viewpoint… things for a while were looking pretty bad.

"She's okay," Steve said unsure, glancing up at me. I could tell right away he didn't want me eavesdropping. "Considering."

"Yeah, right," I retorted, just a little too loudly. "If you consider chasing me and dragging me around all day 'okay' then yeah, I've never been better."

Instead of talking me down about my smart mouth like I expected, Steve merely waved me away. On the other line I could hear Danno clearly getting pissed off again, repeatedly asking what happened in several _creative_ ways.

"She's exaggerating," He tried, then took another moment to look up at me. With a stern expression, he pointed back toward the beds. "Go. Go to sleep,"

With a heavy groan I picked myself up from the table and tossed my plate in the sink after rinsing it. I glanced back when on my way to the bathroom, and seeing that he was preoccupied with the phone call and his food, I quickly swiped the key card from the table. It wouldn't prove to be much good in getting away from Steve, but if it even meant just a few hours… I could get a lot done. I took my time in the bathroom, my movements sluggish. I would've paid to hear how Steve's conversation with Danno went after I was forced to leave. Eventually I made my way out to my respected bed and laid down on it, my backpack resting on the floor. It hadn't left my side all night.

This definitely hadn't been how I thought my night was going to pan out. I wish I could've been spending it doing something a little more worthwhile, e.g. searching for Mom. Spending it bored in bed not being able to sleep? That was the equivalent of hell for me.

After clearing his own plate Steve came back and stood, waiting, at the foot of the bed. I knew what he was there for but hoped against it. I tried to play it cool, to not let him know I knew what he was there for. I tried to play dumb. Leaning up on one elbow, I raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Can I help you?" I asked, slow, cool and calculated. Just like Mom.

"Don't try that," He said, and my hopes disintegrated just a little bit more. "I saw you take the key-card."

Dammit it. It was proving harder and harder to get something—anything—past him. Never one to give up so easily, however, I tried one more time. "Are you crazy? Why would I want that?"

"I don't know… maybe so you could sneak out later and get back in without me knowing about it?" He guessed accurately, and I merely let out a groan.

Fuck it all then.

I sighed and sat up fully, hand slipping into the pocket of my jeans for the blasted card. It was in his hands in seconds. I was a fool to think he would go away so easily, and I nearly jumped when he eyed my backpack. Subconsciously, I scooted closer so my leg brushed up against it. He was not getting the one thing I had left.

He took that move as his cue. "What's in the bag, Teresa?" He asked, voice low.

"Nothing," I snapped. I didn't have the patience for this. If Mom had been cool with it, then he should have been too.

"Nothing," He scoffed and reached for the bag. I was quicker, thankfully, and picked it up out of his reach. His eyes grew dark, and I could tell he was becoming more and more frustrated with each of my actions. "Give me the bag."

"No," I said, almost yelling. I clutched the bag closer, having never felt so protective over it in my life. I felt that if he took my bag he took all my chances of seeing my mother away.

_He couldn't take it._

"I'm not playing around, 'Esa. Give me the damn bag." Steve didn't wait for me to give it up willingly, of course, he just hauled it right out of my grasp. Just like I knew he would. I watched as he opened it and sifted through its contents, frowning before taking them out one by one. The pepper spray, the lock picks, the map and mom's address book. He raised an eyebrow at the wad of cash and took it nonetheless. All I could do was stare, emotionless. I just wanted this night to be over. My hopes of getting out of there—even if just for a few hours, were crushed.

I was stuck with Steve. I was stuck with going to Hawaii. And I was stuck without my mother.

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Hey guys! I took a small break from posting. Good news is, I have even more to post this time around! I just wanted get this out for you guys. I appreciate the follows, faves and reviews immensely :) Leave a few reviews and I'll post another chapter!


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